leela_cat: Adam with head on Tommy's shoulder (Adam/Tommy - stage!close)
leela_cat ([personal profile] leela_cat) wrote in [community profile] glam_100 on August 17th, 2013 at 08:47 pm
Prompt #095: Water
Title: Water Signs
Author: Leela ([personal profile] leela_cat)
Pairing/Characters: Adam/Tommy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 11x100
Content/Warning(s): Shaving with a straight razor
Author's notes: Written for [community profile] glam_100, prompt #095: water. Many thanks to @aislinntlc for the preread. For @casey270 and the others who requested Adam being shaved.

Adam stands in front of the sink and glares at his reflection in the mirror. He rubs his fingers over the edge of his jaw, feeling the beard that he's carefully tended for months. Even damp, the hair has just the right edge of stiffness to leave the perfect pink of stubble burn.

Some people love it, some hate it, but Adam doesn't give a shit about their opinions. His face, his beard, his choice...

Except when a producer calls and tells him that his character doesn't have facial hair, so get rid of it before showing up on set.

He rests his hands on the counter and stares down at the electric razor. Fuck, but he doesn't want to do this. The skin under his jaw is so damn sensitive. It's been a relief not to shave it for a while.

"Seriously, dude?"

His heart kicking up a notch, Adam startles and turns around. Tommy is leaning against the doorjamb.

"Trying to give me a heart attack?" Adam aims for casual, but he doesn't have to see the softening around Tommy's eyes to know he's failing.

"Yeah, because you keeling over's really going to help keep me in tacos."

It's an old joke between them, from back in the early days before Glam Nation, when Adam was newly famous, Tommy was still learning bass, and they were both terrified. Adam finds a smile somewhere, pastes it on his face, even gets his lips to curl up a little.

Tommy, asshole that he is, isn't fooled. He just pushes off and moves into the bathroom. And when Adam turns his back, facing the mirror once again, Tommy comes to stand beside him.

"Time to own your face," Tommy says, meeting Adam's eyes in the mirror.

"I don't wanna."

"Tough shit."

Tommy swings a bag that Adam hadn't even noticed off his shoulder and onto the counter. "Sit," Tommy says, and points at the toilet.

Bemused, Adam carefully lowers the toilet seat before perching on the edge.

"Turn around," Tommy says. "I need your back to me." He smirks at Adam. "And get as comfy as you can on that throne."

Adam shifts around, no longer able to watch Tommy. He can hear the sound of running water though, splashing against glass. A scent is starting to fill the air. A little spicy, a little sharp, and reminding him of childhood.

"You settled?" Tommy asks.

Adam nods and says, "Yeah."

"All right then." The thread of mischief in Tommy's voice is unsettling, and more of a turn-on than Adam would ever admit. "Brace yourself."

Before Adam can do or say anything, a hot, damp towel is wrapped around his lower face and neck. He closes his eyes. Every breath brings more of that elusive scent.

"Don't worry too much," Tommy says. "I've done this before. And not just on myself."

"Not worried," Adam mumbles, the towel muffling his voice.

Tommy snickers. "Maybe you should be."

"I trust you," Adam says. "Completely."

Tommy doesn't respond to that. Instead, after a moment of silence, the bathroom is filled with the sound of metal scraping over leather and Tommy's off-key humming.

The towel is pulled away from Adam's face, and he opens his eyes to see it fly toward the laundry basket. Adam shivers as the chill from the air conditioning glides over his heated skin, and shivers again as Tommy kneels in front of him.

"You've gotta stay still while I do this. I don't wanna cut you. That would fucking..."

Tommy bites his lip, sealing in whatever he was going to say.

"Don't move," Tommy finally says, his voice low. He pushes himself to his feet and walks around Adam.

A bowl clunks onto the ceramic of the toilet tank. A folded towel is draped over Adam's shoulder. Then Tommy's fingers are on Adam's jaw, angling his head. The position's a bit awkward. Adam's neck would probably ache if Tommy hadn't rested Adam's head against his chest.

The shaving cream is warm against Adam's skin. The swirl of the soft brush is soothing. He breathes in heat and comfort and releases a sigh. He hadn't known that he needed this until now.

The handle of the straight razor looks to be made for Tommy's hand. The blade flashes in the light as Tommy places the edge against Adam's throat and pulls Adam's skin tight.

"Don't so much as fucking twitch."

The way Tommy growls the words brings something shuddering to life in the darkest depths of Adam's mind. Fear and arousal twine so tightly around each other that he can't tell where one starts and the other ends.

And then the razor moves.

Tommy draws the blade up Adam's throat, slowly, carefully, in a single long stroke that ends at Adam's chin.

Adam breathes out.

Tommy wipes both sides of the razor on the folded towel, dips the blade in the water. His body shifts behind Adam as he swirls the razor through the water and shakes it off.

When the edge is once again held against his throat, Adam inhales. The metal is blood warm, and Tommy's hand is steady.

Before Tommy begins the next stroke, Adam closes his eyes. He wants to sink into this, into having someone care for him so intensely, get more than a glimpse of Tommy biting his lip or the muscles in Tommy's arm flexing.

Adam can feel everything, hear everything.

Tommy's heartbeat is a bass note against Adam's head. Tommy's fingers are firm on the underside of Adam's jaw, keeping his skin taut as a drum. The razor glides up in a single note, slicing through whiskers with the slight hiss of a minor chord.

The music rests as Adam breathes, as Tommy wipes and rinses the blade. And then it starts again.

Each stroke is a beat, a hiss, a minor chord. A potentially lethal tickle over Adam's skin that builds up to a near-orgasmic release when the razor pulls off his jaw.

Heat rises and falls with each breath in, each sigh out. Music builds between them, in steady beats and extended chords. Longer and shorter strokes, more careful ones as Tommy navigates the tricky curves of Adam's chin, the indent of his upper lip.

Then, with a click of metal against marble, the music falls silent.

Once again kneeling before Adam, Tommy cleans Adam's face with a warm, damp cloth and anxiously checks for nonexistent cuts.

Adam looks down at him, fits his fingers to the line of Tommy's jaw. All he can do is feel him, want him, kiss him.

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